


Triquetra

by Sugakane_01



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Child Abuse, F/F, F/M, Knotting, M/M, Mating, Mildly Dubious Consent, Possessive Behavior, my first time in the fandom please be gentle, total and complete disregard for historical accuracy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:39:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugakane_01/pseuds/Sugakane_01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the death of Aleksander Stilinski, Gerard Argent and his Purist regime rose to power in the little village of Beacon Hills, forcing Aleksander’s son Stiles to live in near exile in the family’s home on the outskirts of the forest where Stiles hones his skills and dispenses his magical gifts in secret under the constant threat of discovery and extermination by the Purists. </p><p>When Stiles stumbles upon Katherine Argent and Adrian Harris trying to do away with a small child in the woods near his home, he immediately takes in the abandoned babe. But the road to hell is paved with good intentions and shortly after taking him in Stiles finds that he’s gotten much more than he bargained for when the boy he rescued turns out to be a child of the Were and Stiles is forced to seek out the boy’s clan in order to keep them both safe.  Derek Hale, the clan’s Alpha, offers sanctuary-but at a price Stiles isn’t sure he’s willing to pay. All too soon Stiles finds himself drawn into the deadly war between the Purists and the Were that exposes secrets of the past and threatens all of their futures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time foray into the Teen Wolf fandom and this is my first time writing Sterek so I hope it's not too terrible. The story is inspired by the novel Highland Blood and the title is a working title and subject to change. As of now this is unbeta'd so all the mistakes are my own.

He was returning to his cottage after a successful hunt when he heard them.  At first Stiles wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the soft cries and harsh whispers but he had enough of a sense of self preservation to duck down and let the foliage conceal him as he slowly crept towards the sounds that interrupted the peace of the woods that bordered his home.  Stopping briefly to tug off his signature red cloak lest it be visible through the brushwood Stiles inched his way towards the increasingly hostile sounding voices.

Before his passing his father had often warned Stiles that his inability to stifle his curiosity and his tendency to leap before he looked would one day lead him into disaster.  When he drew near enough to the disturbance to see that the angry voices belonged to none other than Katherine Argent and the school’s headmaster Adrian Harris, Stiles sent up a fervent prayer to the goddess Fortuna that today would not be that day.

As he peered through the thick underbrush Stiles tamped down his desire to angrily confront the pair and do them some manner of bodily harm.  Kate stood over a little boy, a bloody knife clenched in her fist as the child lay whimpering on the ground, tiny hands clutching a wound on his stomach as Adrian edged slowly away from the carnage.

Stiles knew Kate was not one to be trifled with.  The Argents were Purists and believed it their godly duty to exterminate all whose roots could be found in what they called “the dark arts.”  They were, according to the bits and pieces of whispered conversations that Stiles had managed to overhear governed by some mysterious code that dictated just how that extermination was to take place and those they could and more importantly those they could not “hunt”. 

Stiles knew that it had been Gerard Argent who had started the rumors that Stiles’ mother Lykaia had been a witch and it had only been his father’s position as Constable and the fact that Aleksander Stilinski’s ancestors had been among the town’s first settlers that kept the Argents at bay and allowed the family to live in relative peace.

Stiles knew his mother hadn’t been a _witch_ but she had been…special.  As a child Stiles had spent hours in the forest with her, learning to identify the different flowers and herbs and which ones could be made into potions and compounds for healing or harming, protection or defense.  He had passed his days listening to her recite the stories of the various gods and goddesses of her people and learning how to properly honor and worship the deities or watching as she helped Alan Deaton heal townsfolk who would covertly seek their help after conventional medicine had failed to cure what ailed them. 

Although Aleksander Stilinski had not shared his wife’s beliefs he had respected her enough to allow Lykaia to impart the wisdom of her people unto their only child and Stiles had learned his lessons well.  After his mother’s death and Deaton’s “retirement”, the villagers had begun seeking Stiles out begging for his help with healing sickness or assistance in procuring a powder, charm or trinket for protection against evil in this realm and the next.  Stiles had a strict policy of only performing acts that were for the greater good: healing, prosperity, protection and never for his own profit or gain.  Part of his reasoning for that was because it had been his mother’s decree that his gift never be used for selfish purposes and the other part was simple self-preservation.  With Aleksander’s passing Gerard Argent had grown in power and Stiles had to be careful to do nothing untoward lest he bring the Argents or the Purists they associated with knocking at his door.

Stiles knew the safest thing for him to do would be to creep quietly away and forget that he had ever seen anything but the idea of leaving the babe to fend for himself in such dire circumstances pricked at his conscience and would not permit him to retreat.

Pressing closer to the forest floor and easing forward a few more precious steps Stiles listened intently to the argument that Kate and Adrian were having and had to swallow his cry of shocked outrage when he realized they were arguing over how to best dispose of the child.

“I shan’t be party to killing a babe, Katherine.  Not even one as devil born as he,” Adrian declared in a furious whisper.

“Tis not as if it would be a sin,” Kate argued back, shoving the knife towards Adrian.  “He is Satan’s bastard.  T’would be no black mark upon your soul.”

“Then you do it,” Adrian replied pushing the blade back to Kate.

“I cannot!  Demon he may be but he is still of my flesh.”

Stiles covered his mouth to quiet his startled gasp.  A few years prior Kate Argent’s fiancé, Duncan Lahey, had been killed in a mysterious accident while the two had been hunting.  It had been rumored at the time of his passing that Kate had been with child but no babe ever appeared and people contented themselves in chasing down new scandals.  Stiles realized the little boy bleeding in the dirt was Kate’s son and she must have been hiding him away all this time.  Stiles also realized that there was no way she would have been able to do so without Gerard’s assistance, which meant the old man was in on the ruse and had conspired to hide the boy away to salvage both Kate’s reputation and keep any scandal from sullying the family name.

“Tis not right I take his life directly but,” Kate’s voice pulled Stiles from his musings.  “Perhaps I do not have to if…” Kate trailed off and suddenly lunged, grabbing the injured child and making another slice across his arm and smiling in satisfaction as his blood spilled across the ground, “should such easy prey be found by a predator I cannot be held responsible for that.”

The child whined lowly, sounding more like a distressed puppy than a child and Stiles felt his heart clench.  He was about to leap from his hiding place, consequences be damned when Adrian spoke up again.

“What be the difference?  He’d still be dead by your hand.”

“Nay will he be,” Kate denied.  “Twill be the beasts that stalk these woods that will be responsible for sending this demon down to hell, nay me.”

“Tis splitting hairs and you know it, Katherine!  Whether you leave him as meat for the beasts or slit his throat by your own hand his death will still be of your doing!”

“I have yet to hear a better idea from you,” Kate hissed.  “I am done here.  Save the demon if you wish but I shan’t have any more to do with him,” Kate announced before casting one last contemptuous look at her son and striding away through the trees, Adrian a scant few seconds behind her.

Stiles stayed crouched in his position until he was positive that the duo would not change their minds and return to the woods.  The entire time he hid he watched the little boy sob piteously.  His unnaturally bright blue eyes spilled fat tears down his chubby cheeks and he fisted his golden curls, shoulders hunching forward as he howled out his misery.  Stiles ached to go forth and comfort him but forced himself to remain hidden for a few minutes more.  From what he had overheard it was clear to Stiles that Kate and Adrian, mayhap all of the Purists who knew of his existence, saw the boy as some sort demon spawn. So much so that Kate had been intent upon ending her own child’s life.  Stiles doubted that Kate would take such a drastic step without Gerald’s approval and running afoul of Gerard Argent would do neither Stiles nor the little boy any good.

Stiles was contemplating whether or not it was safe for him to come out of the woods when the lad stilled suddenly and peered into the bushes as if he had somehow sensed Stiles near.  Stiles bit down hard on his lip and tried to calm his racing heart.  He knew that he had not rustled a leaf, disturbed a branch or made any manner of noise that would have alerted the child to his presence and yet the boy was staring at the spot where Stiles was concealed as if he were waiting for him to come forward. 

Cautiously, Stiles stood up and slowly made his way over to the babe.  When the child showed no sign of fear, Stiles quickened his steps and hurried to his side to tend to his wounds.  His brow furrowed in confusion when he saw that the wounds were not as severe as they had appeared from his earlier vantage point and seemed to be knitting together and healing before his eyes.

Stiles blinked in surprise and then shook himself slightly.  “Well that is as neat a trick as I ever did see,” Stiles remarked cheerfully, pushing aside his misgivings and smiling at the boy.  “Now little one, I do not suppose you have any ideas as to how to make your mother and her accomplice think they have gotten away with murder, aye?”

The child stayed silent and Stiles took the moment to examine the boy and the state of his clothing.  He was in little more than rags, his shirt and trousers tattered, torn and filthy.  His skin was pale, almost translucent, as if he had been kept hidden away in darkness far from the healthy kiss of the sun but his eyes shone a brilliant blue, the likes of which Stiles had never seen.

The little boy remained silent as a stone and Stiles sighed.  “Aye well, don’t share them all at once,” Stiles grumbled as he gave a longing look to the rabbits he’d caught earlier for his supper.  “Looks as if tonight’s supper will be gotten from the garden after all.  I hope you are a fan of leafy greens.  Well, desperate times and all little one,” Stiles murmured to the child as he gently stripped him of his ragged clothing and tore it to shreds, scattering it to and fro throughout the small clearing and then skinning and draining the blood from the rabbits and spreading blood, bone and bits of the carcass throughout the clothes and making a trail of blood, bits of cloth and drag marks from the clearing to the woods.

“Tis not a perfect illusion but should hold up well enough.  Now, my name is…well I shan’t inflict such cruelty upon such a small child as to try to pronounce that particular atrocity so how about you just call me Stiles, aye?  And what be your name?”  Stiles asked, wanting to confirm his hunch.

“Demon,” the little boy whispered, his eyes finding the ground. 

“I should say not,” Stiles disagreed, struggling to keep his anger at bay and his tone soft.  “What did your mother call you?”

“That tis what she called me,” the child replied softly.

“Of course it tis,” Stiles muttered angrily.  “Well, listen here: you are no demon nor devil nor whatever else that harpy saw fit to dub you.”  Stiles retrieved his cloak from the brush and wrapped it around the child.  “Now, you will be needing a good, strong name, a name that will not embarrass you when you start your schooling.  No my lad, no taunts in the schoolyard or wondering what you did to be punished by the gods for you.  If you ask me more folks ought to recognize the power in a name and the burden they be saddling their babes with when they get all creative and start digging up family names from the old country that no one knows how to spell properly, let alone pronounce and then the poor child has a lifetime of mockery and misery ahead of them and even their friends point and whisper behind their backs and they can never get an engraving or monogram done because-,” Stiles stopped short when he realized that the little boy had stopped regarding him with suspicion and was instead quietly snickering.  “Yes well, as I was saying, you will be needing a name.  I think I shall call you…Isaac.  Isaac tis a good name, should do you well.”  Stiles reached out to ruffle Isaac’s hair and the child flinched away from the touch.

“I am sorry Isaac,” Stiles said softly.  “I suppose you are not accustomed to much gentle treatment.  How about we change that, aye?  I promise you, on my parents graves, I shall never harm you nor let any harm come to you.”

“Tis okay,” Isaac said softly.  “I can take it.”

Stiles felt his temper rise anew and he was sorely tempted to dig into his mother’s journals to find some manner of enchantment he could place on Kate Argent and all those who had done Isaac harm.  He dismissed the thought as quickly as it came; it would serve Isaac no purpose if Stiles brought the wrath of the Purists down upon them by seeking vengeance.  His mother had warned him often that enchantments sown with ill intent only reaped bitter harvests. 

He smiled gently down at the little boy and held his hand out for Isaac to take.  “I am sure you can, but from this point on you shall not have to.  Would you like to come home with me, Isaac?”

Isaac stared at Stiles for what seemed like an eternity, and then he cocked his head to the side and his nose twitched, almost as if he were an animal scenting the wind, and his face broke into a small smile. 

“Aye, Stiles.  I think I would very much like to go home with you.”

“Come along then, Isaac.  We have a hearty dinner of salad and bread awaiting us.  If you are especially good this night, I might even rustle up a potato or two.”

Isaac frowned.  “I like meat,” he said pouting a bit.

“As do I but I’m afraid we had to sacrifice this night’s portion to the greater good,” Stiles returned easily.  “And potatoes are delicious.”

“Not as delicious as meat.”

“Probably not,” Stiles conceded.  “But we shall make the best of what we have,” he said smiling as Isaac took his hand in his.  Stiles knew he was being impulsive and his father would probably scold him for once again failing to assess the risks versus the rewards of this particular scenario but he also knew that at the end of the day, Constable Aleksander Stilinski would have done the same in his son’s place. 

Stiles had never given any serious thought to being a parent and he was woefully ill prepared for the task but something in his spirit told him that this was his destiny and that Isaac had been placed in his path for a reason.  Even though he had just met Isaac, Stiles had already developed a strong attachment to him.  If Stiles had anything to say about it Kate would never get another chance to harm Isaac and any other Purist that meant the boy harm would have to go through him first.  As Isaac looked up at Stiles, his beautiful blue eyes wide and innocent, Stiles couldn’t help but wonder what manner of madness had possessed the Purist so completely that they had thought such an angelic looking child could be a demon.

Stiles got his answer three days later when the moon rose full and heavy in the night sky and Isaac turned from man to beast before his very eyes. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets come out, decisions are made and Derek makes a memorable first impression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so incredibly happy at the response to the first chapter. I loved, loved, loved hearing from you all and I value your feedback so much. I intended to get this out much sooner and I'm really sorry about the wait so I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. I hope you guys continue to enjoy my little spin on this story and my contribution to my new fandom :)
> 
> Psst...anyone wanna play spot the Buffy reference?

Perhaps beast was a bit of an exaggeration but Stiles thought that under the circumstances he could be forgiven a bit of hyperbole.  After all, it wasn’t every day-or night as the case may be-that a curly haired cherub of a child transformed themselves into an animal.  And not just any animal, a wolf of all things.

A wolf.

A wolf.

 ** _A_** … ** _wolf._**

The boy Isaac had been mere moments before had been replaced by a small wolf.  He obviously wasn’t fully grown but he was larger than the wolves Stiles was used to seeing.  His fur was a thick silver-grey, with patches of black along his back, neck and paws.  His eyes however, remained the same breathtaking blue that Isaac possessed when in human form.

“Oh sweet merciful gods you are one of the Were!” Stiles yelped as he stumbled backwards, seeking to put some distance between himself and the wolf that now inhabited his living room.

“Now you listen here, Isaac,” Stiles said as he inched towards the front door, “You be a nice Were and I shall just be opening the front door and you will be just as free you please to go cavort in the forest with the rest of the wildlife.  Bunnies and deer and and… _oh gods don’t eat me!_ ” Stiles squeaked as Isaac made one short leap across the room and pinned him to the floor.  “Wouldn’t you prefer a delicious bunny rabbit or perhaps a bit o’ deer?  Venison is good meat, eh?  Course I doubt you will be taking the time to cook it over an open flame but I am sure it is quite tasty…au naturale.   And besides, the forest is just full to burstin with prey and all manner of fun things for wildlife such as you to amuse yourself with.  Wouldn’t you prefer the wild, wild woods to this boring old cottage?  Nothing to do and nothing to eat here but skin and bones Stiles.  Hardly a meal for a growing..ah…wolf such as  _you_.”  Stiles’ voice went sharp as Isaac whined sadly and licked a long line up the side of his face before shoving his muzzle into the side of Stiles’ neck and licking him there.

After several moments Stiles realized that he was not, in fact, being made into a meal by the Were he had inadvertently taken in and began to relax.  “Well, here goes nothing,” he said to himself as he slowly lifted his hand from the floor and began to gently sift his fingers through Isaac’s fur.  “Nice Were, good were, do not eat the Stiles, Stiles was good to you so you be good Stiles” he mumbled as he cautiously petted Isaac.  A low rumble sounded through Isaac’s chest and Stiles stopped instantly.  The little wolf whined and butted his head under Stiles’ chin and Stiles promptly resumed his stroking.

“Do not be thinking this means you are in charge,” Stiles grumbled as he relaxed a bit.  “I am still the king of this castle, you know.  Now you be a good boy and let me up, Isaac.”

Isaac immediately reared back, allowing just enough room for Stiles to slip from underneath him but then the pup immediately plastered himself to Stiles’ side and attempted to herd the human to the front door.

“Aight, Aight enough of your shoving, there Isaac,” Stiles gently admonished.  Isaac dropped his head and whined, going to the door and waiting for Stiles.  “Well that answers the question of whether or not you can still understand me,” Stiles murmured.  “You want to go out, huh?  Fine then, you can go out and…frolic or  _oh dear gods_ -hunt or whatever manner of Were type business you shall be getting up to tonight,” Stiles said as he opened the door and stood back.

Isaac promptly dropped his bottom onto the floor of the cottage and looked up at Stiles expectantly.  “What?  You wanted out, so there is out.  Go on, uh…out?” Stiles said making shooing motions with his hands.

Isaac didn’t move.

“Oh for gods sake,” Stiles muttered.  “This is in,” he said making a wide circle with his hands indicating the cottage.  “And this,” he said stepping over the threshold of the door, “is _out_.”

As soon as Stiles stepped outside Isaac vaulted up from the floor and bolted through the door behind him.  The wolf made a wide circle in the yard, scratching at the earth and then raised his hind leg.

“Oh come on!” Stiles yelled, wrinkling his nose.  “Is that really necessary?  My yard is not your personal outhouse!”

“He’s marking his territory,” a voice from the edge of the yard said, startling Stiles.

Isaac immediately leapt in front of Stiles his fur bristled and canines bared as he growled at the intruder.

“Calm down little one I mean neither you nor Stiles any harm,” the man said softly but made no move to advance forward.

“Deaton?  By gods man you took ten years off of my life!  What are you doing skulking about my door in the dead of night?”  Stiles demanded as he recognized his visitor.  “Isaac?  Isaac, tis okay.  That is our friend Deaton.  Remember he came to see you the other day?  He won’t harm you, I promise.”  Isaac relaxed slightly at the words, letting his lip drop back down to cover his canines but his posture remained stiff and he made no move to vacate his spot in front of Stiles.

“After your visit the other day I had a feeling that you and the little one here might require some assistance tonight,” Deaton answered smoothly.  “And he is not worried about me harming  _him_ ,” the man pointed out to Stiles.

“What?  Then why is he so…oh, oh  _oh_ ,” Stiles said as he realized that Isaac was protecting him from what he perceived to be a threat.  “Hey now, what did I say about me being the one in charge, eh?  I do the protecting around these parts and I promise that Deaton here is friend not foe.  Stand down now, Isaac.”

Isaac whined softly and pawed at the earth in front of Stiles, before gently butting his head into the human’s leg and moving slightly over to the side.

“Interesting,” Deaton said, stepping forward cautiously.  “He has remarkable control for one so young and untrained.”

“Untrained?”  Stiles asked, looking from Deaton to Isaac.  “Untrained in what?”

“Controlling his instincts, mastering his wolf, shifting, defending himself…I rather doubt that Kate and Gerard Argent cared to teach him anything about being Were, other than their own narrow minded assertion that he was cursed and a legion of the damned,” Deaton said as he made his way to Stiles, stopping short when Isaac’s fur began to bristle again.

“You knew he was Were?” Stiles asked trying to make sense of Deaton’s unexpected presence and the conversation.  “When I asked you to come check him, make certain he was not injured…you saw something or felt something or…I do not know how you knew but you knew!  Didn’t you?”  Stiles accused.

Deaton nodded.  “Aye, tis not hard to spot one of the Were when one knows what to look for.”

“How did you know?  And why didn’t you say anything?  You did not think that I would like to know I had taken in one of  _them_ ,” Stiles questioned.

“This child is... special.  And I while I was confident in my suspicions I could not really be sure until the moon.  Not all half breeds possess the gifts of the Were, in fact most don’t.”

“Half-breeds?”

“Aye, the child of a human and a Were, like your Isaac here.  Most half breeds are humans-fully human-with very few exceptions.  Come Stiles, tell your little one answer the moon’s call.  He shall be safe.  I have made provisions to ensure that he will not go far and that no Purist will stumble upon him this night.”

“Provisions?  What type of provisions and what do you mean answer the call of the moon?  And why would he be needing my permission to do such a thing?”

“He won’t leave your side unless he knows you are safe,” Deaton explained patiently.  “He needs you to let him know that there is no threat.  And the moon is calling him and this probably the first time he has ever had the opportunity to answer.  He needs to run and you, my dear boy, need to listen.  I have much to teach you and you have much to learn.”

Stiles swallowed down the million questions on the tip of his tongue and asked the one that was troubling him the most.  “If I just let him loose…if he is one of the Were…Isaac will not…he is not dangerous?”

“There are many stories about the Were,” Deaton answered.  “Some are true, some are not.  You tell me, Stiles: Is your Isaac a danger?  Is he a demon, a devil, a cursed beast ready to rend men in half and flay the flesh from their bones?”

Stiles looked down at the wolf by his side and saw the brilliant blue of Isaac’s eyes staring back at him.  “No,” he whispered, gently stroking over Isaac’s fur.  “Whatever else he may be he is my own and mine is no demon nor devil.  Whatever else Isaac may be he is no danger.”

Deaton smiled briefly.  “Then let him go and come inside with me.  We have much to discuss.”

Stiles nodded and bent down and buried his face into Isaac’s neck.  “Go on my own.  I shall be here when you return,” he whispered.

Isaac whimpered softly and licked at Stiles’ face before turning suspicious eyes on Deaton.  “Tis fine,” Stiles hummed into Isaac’s ear.  “Tis fine.  Go, go on.  The moon is calling and ‘twould be rather rude of you not to answer.”

Isaac gave one last whine before turning and scampering off into the woods.  Stiles listened until he could no longer hear Isaac making his way through the underbrush before standing and facing Deaton.

“Everything,” Stiles demanded.  “You tell me everything.”

“T’was the plan,” Deaton replied amenably as he stepped past Stiles and made his way into the cottage.

 

A long, melodic howl pierced the quiet of the night.  Stiles looked back towards the woods, squared his shoulders and followed Deaton inside.

* * *

Stiles had no choice but to admit defeat.  Despite his best efforts he was coming up woefully short in his attempts to keep Isaac from harm and keep them both safe from the ever widening net cast by the Purists.

The last two years had been fraught with tension.  After draining Deaton dry of all the knowledge the man possessed-or at least all the knowledge he was willing to share as Stiles had his suspicions Deaton never actually shared all that he knew about  _anything_  with  _anyone_ -Stiles had gone about trying to make the woods surrounding his cottage safe for Isaac.  He had cast a protection spell, set up traps to warn them of any incoming hunting parties, routinely marked the woods with a barrier of mountain ash to keep Isaac from wandering too far and drilled into his little boy the importance of remaining hidden from sight when villagers from town came to call.  Despite it all rumors of a beast that roamed the woods had spread, bolstered by evidence of Isaac’s hunting and the sounds of his howling during full moons.  Hunts for the Demon of Beacon Hills had grown more frequent and Purists from neighboring villages, those lacking both a code of ethics and devoid of basic human compassion, had answered Gerard’s call for assistance. 

Stiles had been forced to keep Isaac inside the last two moons, confined to the cellar and drugged into a deep sleep to keep him from howling.  It pained Stiles to do so but the last time he had let Isaac out the little boy had somehow gotten past the ring of mountain ash Stiles had lain forth and wound up caught in a hunter’s trap.  It had only been sheer luck that Stiles had heard his howl and reached him before the hunters returned to check their trap.  The hunting parties were becoming more frequent and coming ever closer to his home.  The last group had actually made it to the edge of the yard before they were greeted by an armed Stiles demanding they turn back, vacate his land and leave him be.  Kate Argent had been among them and things had swiftly become unpleasant.

_“We simply wish to inspect your quarters and make certain that you are not harboring the demon we seek, child.  We mean you no harm.  Surely you can’t object to that,” Kate explained, stepping forward._

_“I can and I do,” Stiles declared leveling his father’s old Blunderbuss at Kate halting her advance.  “This is my land and this is my home.  You shan’t be inspecting anything and the first one of you to try will be banging on your Lord and Savior’s pearly gates a whole lot sooner than you intended.”_

_“My my,” Kate tutted as her eyes narrowed into slits.  “And here I was thinking you to be a harmless child.  Such a passionate response…almost makes me think you have something to hide.”_

_“Tis often those that have skeletons rattling about in their own closets that claim to hear bones banging in the houses of others,” Stiles fired back.  “I thought you were hunting demons but if this be a group confessional by all means Miss Katherine, you have the floor.  Unburden yourself of your deepest darkest and then perhaps I will be inspired to do the same.”_

_“Just what are you insinuating boy?”  Kate hissed._

_“Me?  Not a thing.  You were the one who started rambling on about hiding things and such.  I just walked down the path you lead me on, my lady.  As you said, Miss Katherine, I am just a harmless child.  Almost defenseless in fact.  I am sure I have no reason to fear you, surely a fine woman such as you could never harm a child.”_

_Adrian Harris paled next to Kate and her face contorted in rage before her features blanked out into a grotesque parody of reassurance and maternal concern.  “Of course I couldn’t dear boy.  I also could not live with my conscience if I left a child to fend for themselves with a demon on the loose.”_

_“I am sure if you tried hard enough you could find a way,” Stiles replied snidely.  “I am truly touched by your concern for my well being but I have been taking care of myself for years now and I will continue to do so without any interference from the likes of you.”_

_“Listen here boy-”, Kate snarled, abandoning her façade of matronly concern and turning on Stiles with barely concealed fury.  “You will stand aside and-”_

_“Katherine, enough!”  Chris Argent called out, stepping forward.  “We know that Stiles is not the beast we seek and he has every right to refuse us entry into his home and request us to remove ourselves from his land,” Chris’ eyes drifted towards Stiles.  “That does not mean that the hunt is over and that does not mean that if we fail to find the beast this night that we will not return.”_

_Stiles nodded stiffly.  “I suppose I ought to wish you happy hunting then.”_

_“I suppose so,” Chris said, signaling for the hunting party to disperse._

_“You would be wise to watch your back boy,” Kate spat as she gave Stiles a look of pure malice.  “These woods can be a dangerous place and ‘twould be a shame for the last of the Stilinski’s to fall.”_

_“Your concern is touching,” Stiles returned coolly.  “But you needn’t worry.  I can protect my own just fine.”_

_“Katherine!”_

_“Stifle thyself Christopher, I’m on me way!” Kate yelled, turning her back on Stiles and making her way into the woods._

_Stiles kept his weapon aimed at her back the entire time and wondered if Chris Argent knew that the only demon in the woods that night was his very own sister._

Stiles shook away the memory and resumed bathing away the dirt from Isaac’s body.  As a sort of consolation for being kept in on the full moon Stiles had taken to allowing the boy to run free in the woods near their home.  While the little boy couldn’t change to his full wolf form unless the moon was in the sky, Isaac could manage a sort of human-wolf hybrid at times and would often return with small game he’d hunted down during these shifts.

They’d had a close call with a hunting party of out of town Purists earlier.  Stiles had thought it would be safe to allow Isaac out into the woods since the moon was nearly a week away and he had to make his way to a client’s house to deliver a sleeping potion for her ailing husband.  Stiles had been following behind the Isaac, marking the trees in preparation for expanding the protection barrier when he’d heard Isaac’s distressed howl.  Isaac had strayed from the agreed upon path and Purists had somehow snuck up on the child and had him surrounded.  One had shot the little boy with a crossbow and the arrow protruded from Isaac’s thigh. 

_Stiles fought the urge to rush into the fray and instead reached inside his cloak and removed a small vial of glittering pink powder._

_“Tis nap time for the wee little hunters,” Stiles whispered as he shook loose some of the powder into the palm of his hand.  “Forgive me Mrs. Leclerc but your Jimmy shall have to go another night or two without rest,” he whispered before covering his mouth and nose with his cloak and releasing the powder into the wind._

_For several tense moments nothing happened and then one by one the hunters began to stumble about as if drunk and then dropped like stones to the forest floor, fast asleep._

_Isaac’s eyes widened as he took in the sight and then he cried out in joy as he saw Stiles make his way to him.  “I’m sorry.  I was chasing a rabbit and I wasn’t paying attention and-”_

_“Tis not your fault.  Now can you be brave whilst I remove that arrow?”_

_Isaac nodded and Stiles got to work.  “Thank the gods it didn’t go clean through,” Stiles muttered.  He made quick work of removing the arrow, letting out a sigh of relief when Isaac’s wound began closing.  “Okay, now here be the tricky part.  I need you to go over yonder to the trees and wait for me.”_

_“Why can’t we just go home?”  Isaac asked, his eyes wide and fearful._

_“Because my own, they saw you.  And if we leave now as soon as they wake they will be going to town to spread the tale.  We cannot have that.”_

_“What can we do?”_

_“We cannot do anything,” Stiles said sharply.  “You are going to go over yonder to the trees and wait for me and I am going to make sure these men can do you no harm.”_

_“How?”_

_“By gods my father always said he hoped I would be saddled with a child whose curiosity matched my own and blast it all if that is not exactly what has happened,” Stiles muttered.  “I am going to do what I do best,” he answered Isaac._

_“But you cannot talk to them now that they are asleep,” Isaac pointed out innocently._

_“I was not planning to talk to-get over yonder to the trees,” Stiles snapped.  “I will be having none of your sass this day.”_

_Isaac snickered and shrugged then limped over to the group of trees Stiles had pointed to.  “Now to make our Purists a little less pure,” Stiles murmured as he went to a thicket of brambles, gently parted the thorny branches and made his way inside.  He returned a few moments later, scratched and scraped but carrying a small handful of pink blossoms.  He quickly broke a few branches from a nearby tree and started a small fire, throwing the blossoms in._

_“Goddess Lethe I pray to thee_

_To cleanse them of their memory_

_Secrets revealed forgotten shall be_

_By my will_

_By your grace_

_So shall it be.”_

_Stiles blew out the fire and a light, lavender colored smoke filled the air and then dispersed._

_“Hells bells that better work,” Stiles mumbled to himself as he made his way back over to Isaac.  “Aight then, let’s get a move on.”_

By the time they’d made it back to the cottage Isaac had been fully healed and Stiles had been coming down from his adrenaline rush.  He’d mechanically made dinner for the two of them and then prepared Isaac’s bath but as he helped the little boy towel off reality came crashing down on Stiles and his hands began to shake.

They couldn’t stay in Beacon Hills any longer.  They’d gotten lucky in the past but Stiles knew that type of luck wouldn’t hold.  Nothing short of Isaac’s death would satisfy the Purists and now that he’d foolishly put himself on Kate Argent’s radar his own hide was at risk at well. 

Stiles quickly dressed the boy in his pajamas and then pulled the child into his lap, burying his nose in Isaac’s golden curls.

Isaac turned his crystalline blue eyes on Stiles and smiled.  “You do not have to be sad anymore.”

Stiles put a bright smile upon his face.  “I am not sad,” he denied quickly.

“You are so,” Isaac refuted with a small smirk.  “I can smell it on you.  But you do not need to be.  I’m all better now, Stiles,” Isaac announced softly.  “It does not even ache anymore.”

“I have told you repeatedly to keep your nose out of my emotions,” Stiles grumbled, then softened.  “Oh child,” Stiles sighed, pulling him closer.  “It should not ever ache at all.  These close calls can’t go on.  The Purists are circling like vultures over a freshly made carcass and sooner or later they will be landing to feast.  It is not safe any longer.  We must leave.”

“Where will we go?” Isaac asked in a small voice.

Stiles took a steadying breath.  “We shall go to your kin…your pack.”

Isaac looked up at Stiles and pouted.  “You are my pack.  I haven’t any other.”

“That is not true, my own.  According to Deaton you be of Hale blood.  I am not sure who is your sire but I suppose we’ll be finding out.”

“I do not want a sire and I do not want a new pack.  You be my pack.  I want you,” Isaac insisted stubbornly.

“And you shall have me always,” Stiles replied gently, “but I cannot keep you safe anymore.  We must go high into the hills and seek out your pack, ask for sanctuary and hope that they will be merciful enough to grant it.”

“What if they say no?”

“Pshh,” Stiles scoffed, “Who could say no to the pair of us, eh?  You be an angel, more precious than any cherub decorating a church wall and I am naturally charismatic and loveable.  Between the two of us your pack will be wrapped around our pinkies and begging us to stay.  We might even find ourselves a nice little Were lady to be my beloved and your new mother,” Stiles joked but his heart wasn’t in it.

“You don’t want a nice little Were lady,” Isaac grumbled.  “And I do not want a new mother.  I want you.  What if my sire is mean?  What if…what if h-he’s like K-kate?”  Isaac stuttered, fear making his claws come out a bit and dig into Stiles’ thigh.

“If he be like that wretched woman and dare lay a hand upon your head I will make it my mission to make him rue the day he was born,” Stiles declared fiercely, holding Isaac tight to him.  “I am not your sire but I am yours and you be mine and woe to any who try to harm you, be they Purist or Hale pack.”

Isaac calmed slightly and looked wistfully about the cottage.  “I like it here,” he whispered.  “I like our home.”

“As do I but we cannot stay, Isaac.”

“I will stay closer to the house and I will not complain anymore about being locked in on the moon.”

“Spending your moons in an Aconitum induced sleep tis neither healthy nor fair,” Stiles sighed.  “This was inevitable.  You cannot hide forever and neither can I.  We should have left last year when Deaton disappeared.  Those who remember my father and were loyal to him are dwindling in numbers and Gerard is rising in power, spreading his hate and hysteria to all who will listen. Tis only a matter of time before he and his ilk disturb my peace here.  For both of our sakes we must be leaving.”

“If it keeps you safe then I will go,” Isaac said, squaring his tiny shoulders.  “But you be my pack and no sire nor kinsman can tell me different.”

“Yes, yes, I’m your pack and you are my own and now we must rest so that we can rise early on the morn and gather our things.  The sooner we leave the better.  Those hunters may not remember what happened today but they’ll be back and they’ll be more of them when they come.  It’s best we be gone when they get here.”

The morning came far too quickly for Stiles and his heart broke a hundred times over as he and Isaac picked their most prized possessions from the contents of their home.   Stiles couldn’t help the stab of bitterness that flowed through him as he stared at the small assortment of bags that were all he’d have to show for the life he’d lived with his parents and built with Isaac.  If he could have bundled up the entire cottage and taken it with him he would have.  It was a physical ache to leave anything behind.  Every book held the memory of his mother’s voice.  Every tool invoked the phantom touch of his father’s hand.  Every corner of the little cottage had been touched by joy and marked with love, every stone in the wall told the story of his family and Stiles was loathe for this chapter in the tale to end.

Isaac slipped his small hand into Stiles’ palm.  “Shh, Stiles.  I promise it will be okay,” he whispered.

“I did not say anything,” Stiles replied giving Isaac’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“The sound of your sorrow is very loud.  Your heartbeat is heavy and your breath is labored and you smell salty and sharp,” Isaac stated quietly.

“Tis cheating you are doing,” Stiles chided gently.  “Here I was being the strong, silent type with a stiff upper lip and all that and you be over there hearing and smelling everything I am trying to hide from you.  I am going to plug that nose of yours up one day if you cannot keep it on your face and out of my feelings.”

“Keep your feelings out of my nose,” Isaac sassed back, sticking out his tongue for good measure.

Stiles gave Isaac a playful flick to his nose and then turned back to saddle the horse.  “Well, that’s everything.  We best be on our way.”  Stiles grabbed Isaac and swung him up onto his horse before climbing on behind him.  With one last longing look farewell he bid his childhood home goodbye and started off on his journey to find Isaac’s –and hopefully his-sanctuary.

The night air was chilly and the stars were bright in the sky by the time Stiles and Isaac finally stopped to make camp.  Isaac could have kept going but Stiles was reluctant to ride at night when his vision was impaired and potential threats could hide under the cover of darkness.

Stiles quickly made their camp and built a fire while Isaac attended the horses, giving them food and water and making certain they were settled for the night. 

“How much farther must we ride, Stiles?”  Isaac asked as he settled next to Stiles and tore into his dinner.

“I’m not quite sure,” Stiles confessed.  “Deaton just said that the Hale pack’s territory was high in the northern hills.  I figure we keep going that way we’ll either come upon them or they’ll see us coming and sent out someone to meet us.”

“Or kill us,” Isaac said sagely.

Stiles choked on his dinner.  “Gods child, why would you even think such a thing?”

“Everyone tries to kill me,” Isaac shrugged.  “Everyone except you and Deaton.”

“These be your kinsmen, Isaac-”

“So is Gerard,” Isaac said in a low growl.  Stiles was taken aback because Isaac was a sweet, gentle child who hardly ever showed his temper.  He also rarely spoke of his years with the Argents except to say that he wished he could forget them.  “It did not stop him from hurting me.  Kate is my mother and she hurt me every day that I can remember being with her and then when she did not want me anymore she cut me and she left me for wild beasts to feed upon,” Isaac spat.  “I never met Chris but I heard him out in the yard that night, he had come to hunt me.  Why should these Hales be any different?”

“Isaac,” Stiles sighed, reaching for the boy and tugging him close.  “I know the Argents harmed you.  I know that they were a poor example of kinsmen for you.  But you must understand the Argents are not like your other kin.  They harmed you because they feared you.  They feared you because you are different, and the things that make you different are things they cannot fathom nor control so they seek to destroy rather try to understand.”

“They feared me because they said I am a demon.”

“You are a bit of a rascal but you are no demon,” Stiles replied, tweaking one of Isaac’s curls.

“The Were are not demons?  They are not killers cursed by the Prince of Hell and placed upon the earth to feed upon the blood of the-”

“My gods child that’s enough of that!”  Stiles called out in alarm.  “Where on earth did you ever hear such horrible-,” Stiles bit off the end of his sentence as he realized exactly where Isaac would have heard such things.  “The Were are…like any of the rest of us, I believe.  Just like humans; some are wicked and others are not.  Some are kind and others are cruel.  And yes, some are probably killers but so are some men.  Evil tis not a curse, tis a choice.  I refuse to believe that being Were makes one evil or damned or cursed any more than being a Purist makes one good, or favored or blessed.”

“Do you think the Hales are…do you think they are evil?”

“I do not know but I suppose we’re going to find out, eh?”

“Will they be…like them?  Will they-”

“No,” Stiles said strongly.  “You shan’t be mistreated again.  I will not allow it.”

“If they-”

“Then we will leave.  Find our own sanctuary.  Get out of Argent territory and settle somewhere safe.  Whatever happens, I promise to keep you safe.”

“Will they like me?  Will they…will they want me?”

“They’d be touched not to,” Stiles declared with a wide smile.  “They should fall upon their feet and thank me for returning such a good, strong boy as you to their pack.”

Stiles sent up a silent prayer to the goddess Soteria that he was speaking the truth.  He had never met any of the Hales, they’d retreated far up into the hills when he had been a boy younger than Isaac.  Deaton had assured him however that they were a strong pack and their Alpha, Laura, was fair and compassionate.  Stiles was certain he’d be able to make her see reason and understand the danger of Isaac being left alone without protection.  Whether or not they’d allow Stiles to stay was another matter entirely but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.  The important thing was that Isaac be safe and cared for and if they had to be separated in order for that to happen then so be it.  Deaton had said the Hale compound was virtually impenetrable and that was precisely the type of protection that Isaac needed.

Not that Stiles would turn his nose up at the opportunity to live in a veritable fortress, safe from Purists like the Argents and possibly free to practice his magic without the burden of secrecy or the finger of suspicion being firmly pointed in his direction by frightened villagers every time there was an outbreak of sickness, an early frost, or the year’s harvest wasn’t up to snuff.  Ever since he’d lost his father Stiles had been a virtual outcast, sought out only in secret when someone needed to make use of his gifts but always one careless whisper away from being branded a witch and dragged off by overzealous Purists.  He hoped with everything he had that the Hales would show him a small mercy and allow him to stay with their pack, to stay with Isaac, even though they were not honor bound to do so. 

Security had eluded Stiles since Aleksander’s death and with Deaton’s disappearance and Isaac’s close calls Stiles’ nerves were beginning to fray around the edges.

He simply wanted for himself and Isaac to be safe.

When they had finished eating, Stiles made them a small pallet upon the ground on which to sleep, resolutely ignoring Isaac’s mutinous glare and grumbled complaints about sleeping on the hard ground.  Stiles settled down next to Isaac and drew the blankets about them and let the sounds of the forest lull him into an uneasy sleep.

Isaac springing up out of his grasp and shaking him pulled Stiles out of his rough slumber.

“Wha-”, Stiles began but swallowed the sound when he saw that Isaac had partially shifted and realized the child was trying desperately to drag Stiles up from their bed.

The sound of branches snapping under heavy boots had Stiles scrambling up and pulling his pistol from beneath the blankets just as four men came out of the woods and advanced upon their campground.

“Go Isaac, go  _now_ ,” Stiles ordered, pushing the little boy behind him and trying to shove him off in the direction of the woods behind them.

Isaac refused to run and instead took up position next to Stiles, growling lowly, his fangs and claws fully extended.

Stiles stared at the men, unsure whether they were Purists or just bandits, but knowing that he was outnumbered and outgunned and even with Isaac refusing to leave his side they were in deep trouble.

* * *

Derek Hale rode hard along the forest path sure that he would reach his destination before nightfall.  He has set out from Brackenwood, the Hale stronghold, at a frenetic pace driven by blind rage and an overwhelming need to claim what was his.

He had lost Jackson and Boyd somewhere back along the trail, the two beta’s unable to keep pace with their furious Alpha.  He could feel the exhaustion of his beta’s but still he pushed forward, anxious to reach Beacon Hills, do his business and be heading back towards Brackenwood before word of his arrival spread among the Purists.

Derek felt his fangs elongate and he closed his eyes, willing them to retreat.  He  struggled to get control of his spiraling emotions and slowly his fangs receded.  Derek was on edge, dangerously so, but returning so close to the scene of his betrayal always had a negative effect on him.

Returning so close to Katherine had a negative effect on him.

Derek felt his fangs snap free and forced all thoughts of the Argent woman from his mind, focusing instead on the task at hand.  Derek’s goal was simple: go to Beacon Hills, take what was his and return to Brackenwood.

The sound of a muted growl, barely louder than the rumble of an angry pup, pulled Derek from his angry thoughts.  He yanked on the reins of his horse and stopped short, scenting the wind and listening intently to determine where the noise had come from.

“Go Isaac, go now.”

The desperation and fear that Derek heard in that voice had him dismounting from his steed and withdrawing his sword.  Derek silently crept towards the voices he heard, surprised when Boyd and Jackson silently appeared beside him, following his lead without question.

The three Were made their way deeper along the trail and came upon a small campsite.  There were four men surrounding a child and a young man who appeared barely out of his teens.  The young man was attempting to shield the child from the others, holding them off for the moment with a pistol.

“Come now boy, unless you be wanting to end up gutted on the end of my knife stand down.  This be God’s will you be interfering with.  Hand over the demon or we’ll be taking him from you, Stilinski.”

“The only thing you will be taking is an arse kicking if you come any nearer,” the boy-Stilinski replied.  His voice sounded steady and strong but Derek could hear his heart beating at a rabbit’s pace and could see the sheen of sweat of his forehead and the slight shake in his hand that held the pistol.  Derek would lay odds that the boy had never spilt the blood of another.

And that led Derek to question why four grown men would attack a youngster and a child, particularly speaking about God’s will and demons.  He caught the scent of burnt cinnamon and slid his eyes over to his right to see that Boyd had partially shifted and was vibrating with the effort of restraining himself until given an order by his Alpha.  He placed a calming hand on the dark skinned beta’s forearm and looked back towards the scene.

The young man was tall and lean, not overly muscular but not scrawny either.  His skin was pale and dotted here and there with smattering of beauty marks that Derek found oddly endearing.  His eyes were the color of cognac, framed by lush lashes and his lips weren’t overly full but seemed soft, as if it would only take a little bit of pressure to get them to yield…

As Derek’s thoughts were taking a turn the little boy stepped out from behind his protector and growled at the men in front of them.  Derek’s eyes widened in shock as he took in the child’s features: golden curls, brilliant blue eyes…and fangs.

_The child was Were._

That meant the men accosting them were Purist and this close to Beacon Hills chances were that they were of Argent’s number.  Derek didn’t believe in coincidences and the odds that a child of the Were being hunted by the Argents and the child that Deaton had finally saw fit to tell him existed the evening prior being two different boys were exceedingly low.

As the little boy howled, Derek’s chest tightened in recognition of the sound of pack and Jackson and Boyd whined low in response.

Derek’s fangs sprang forth, his claws snapped out and his eyes bled an angry red.  The child was not only Were, he was the reason Derek had set out for Beacon Hills in the first place.

And hell hath fury like an angry Alpha.

Derek’s eyes swept the scene again.  The young man had absolutely no chance of holding off the Purists yet he seemed determine to try.  It was also just as evident that the child had no intention of leaving the young man’s side despite being entreated to do so.  Derek felt a stab of pride at the young Were’s bravery and a grudging respect for his protector’s courage before being drowned by a wave of almost overwhelming fury when the Purists fanned out and surrounded the pair on all sides.

Derek read the intent in the eyes of the Purists and decided things had gone on long enough.  The young man didn’t have it in him to draw first blood but the Purists appeared determined not retreat until the child was dead and possibly his protector along with him.

Derek was equally determined not to let that happen.

The fact that his determination and desire to defend extended past the child he knew to be pack and included his protector as well was something for Derek to analyze at a later date.

With a nod to Jackson and Boyd he made no attempt to shift his features back to fully human before he stepped out from the cover of the trees, his betas on his heels.

Derek smiled wickedly at the Purists, enjoying the quickening of their heartbeats and the tangy scent of their fear filling the air as they took in the sight of the trio of Were emerging from the woods.  Derek’s fangs ached with the urge to taste their blood and his palms itched with the desire to slash away the flesh from their bones.

“If you start running now, me and mine might just let you live,” Derek remarked quietly.

“Come to claim Lucifer’s bastard eh,” the leader spat at Derek.

“You are the only bastard in these woods,” Stiles volleyed back in defense of Isaac before Derek could reply. 

“Don’t you besmirch my sainted mother’s reputation-”

Stiles rolled his eyes.  “Your ‘sainted mother’ was as virtuous as a Covent Garden nun,” he replied snidely.

“I’m going to cut your tongue out and shove it back down your gullet you little-”

“How brave you are, the four of you against this mere slip of a boy and a small child.  What are you planning to do for an encore, go find a newly born pup to kick?” Derek drawled, bringing the man’s attention back to him.

“He is a witch, just like his cursed mother and he has been housing and hiding that demon.  Neither he, nor you and your legion of the damned are going to stand in the way of us doing our duty.”

“Your duty?” Derek repeated.  “Tis the duty of four grown men to threaten a youngster with death and dismemberment?   Tis your duty to threaten to take the life of a child?”

“Aye, and after we’ve done with them we will be taking yours as well,” the man spat at Derek.

“How about you try your luck with me first, eh?”  Derek challenged. 

“You will be the one in need of luck, demon!”

Stiles stood watching the trio of men that had materialized out of the shadows of the trees and listened as the one who appeared to be their leader challenged the Purists that had surrounded him and Isaac.  The man was only a little taller than Stiles but he was broader and seemed to be made out of a wall of solid muscle.  He had dark hair and…

Fangs.

He had fangs.

And oh merciful gods his eyes were a burning red that Stiles didn’t even know existed until that very moment.

Stiles let his gaze flicker to each of the men at his side and yes…there were more fangs.  And claws, oh yes those were definitely claws.  Stiles noticed that where their leader’s eyes were red, the man to his left had eyes that glowed a bright blue reminiscent of Isaac’s and the man standing on his right had eyes that were an amber color.

These men were obviously Were.

Stiles and Isaac were literally in the middle of a standoff between Were and Purists.

Realizing that no one’s attention was upon them, Stiles slowly reached a hand out and grabbed hold of Isaac.  He tugged gently and began herding him back away from the men, taking care not to lower his pistol or move too quickly lest he draw attention to their retreat.

He felt a small twinge of guilt for leaving the three Were alone to face four Purists but his first priority had to be getting Isaac to safety.  Stiles had almost made it to the relative shelter of the tree line when the Purists attacked.

It proved to be a fatal mistake.

The three Were moved so quickly that Stiles could scarcely track them with his eyes.  Unfortunately Isaac seemed to have no such trouble and gasped aloud at the sight of the Purists being turned into little more than piles of broken bones and scraps of flesh.  Stiles cringed at the sound of flesh being torn from bone and the pain filled cries of the Purists as they fell before the trio of Were.

Stiles drew Isaac to him, intending to pick up the boy and make a break for it but his feet were rooted to the ground.  Even though his brain was screaming at him to flee he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the carnage before him.  When there were none left save the leader of the Purists, Stiles contemplated returning to his campsite and offering his thanks, perhaps even asking the men if they knew of the Hale pack or exactly how to reach the compound when the Were’s leader leapt forward, grabbed the Purist by the hair, jerked his head back, sank his teeth into the man’s throat and tore it out.

Stiles scooped Isaac up and ran.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles learns the hard way not to run from wolves and Derek learns that just because he's the Alpha doesn't mean that he'll always be obeyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thank you all so much for your feedback and kudos and subscriptions and support. As this is my first Teen Wolf fic I am incredibly thankful for the warm reception I've received by the fandom.
> 
> Second, after some consideration I've tweaked the language a bit and gone back and edited previous chapters to reflect the change. It's not so much so that I've completely abandoned what I was doing before but it feels a little less jarring to me and seems to flow a bit better. I think it's still in keeping with the tone that I've chosen to set for the fic while being a bit of an easier read. That being said, I'm aware that it won't be everyone's cup of tea. That's perfectly fine and if anyone finds their sensibilities too offended by the historical inaccuracy or the language I've chosen to employ for my story or the plot or anything else I completely understand if they choose to stop reading and they are free to go find a fic that is more to their liking and there will be absolutely no hard feelings on my end.
> 
> So anywhoo...I hope you guys enjoy this chapter :)
> 
> * * *

Derek dropped the Purist’s body and wiped his bloody mouth with the back of his hand.  He caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and cursed.

He supposed it shouldn’t surprise him that the boy-Stilinski-had fled.  The human’s fight or flight response, coupled with his obvious desire to protect the Were child from harm had obviously compelled him to run.

The fact that Derek could understand the human’s thought process did nothing to stop him from cursing the idiot for _running from wolves_.  For no sooner had Derek noticed Stilinski’s attempt to escape than his betas did as well.

And unfortunately, as they were bitten and not born wolves, Jackson and Boyd lacked Derek’s iron clad control over their more primitive instincts.  No sooner had Stilinski and the boy disappeared into the trees than Jackson and Boyd snarled and prepared to give chase. 

Derek let loose a blood curling howl and both betas dropped to the ground, cowering low before the command of their Alpha.

“There’s no need to chase them,” Derek said, walking to where his betas lay and curling one of his hands around the backs of both of their necks. 

“He fled with the boy,” Jackson rumbled.  “The child is pack.”

“He’s ours,” Boyd added vehemently.

“He is,” Derek agreed.  “And we shall have our packmate.  But there’s no need to pursue them through woods as if they were prey.  They’ll be back.”

“How can you be so sure,” Jackson demanded.

“Don’t be insolent,” Derek murmured.  “Take a look around you, Jackson.  What do you see?”

The beta’s blue eyes swept the little clearing and he smiled.  “They left all of their belongings.”

“So you think they’ll be back to retrieve them?” Boyd asked.

“I do,” Derek confirmed.  “And when they return, we’ll be waiting.”

* * *

Stiles and Isaac had hidden high up in the branches of a nearby tree.  Stiles suspected the moment his feet began to fly across the forest floor that he had made a grave mistake and the snarling and rumbling of the Were that he’d left behind in the clearing confirmed it for him.

Stiles was human and no matter how highly motivated by fear and paternal instinct he may have been, he knew that he couldn’t outrun the three Were and his attempt to do so was little more than an invitation for them to chase him down and…

Well Stiles wasn’t sure what they’d do when they caught him but he had no desire to find out.  Since running was out of the question and fighting would be an exercise in futility, Stiles chose option number three.

They hid.  Once he got up in the branches in the tree he could see the clearing and could see that the Were’s leader had stopped the other two from pursuing he and Isaac into the forest. 

“Can you hear them?”  Stiles whispered to Isaac.

Isaac shook his head.  “They’re too far away,” he said regretfully.  “What will we do now?”

“We will stay up here and wait for them to go away,” Stiles said.  “They won’t stay too long-too much of a chance of running into more Purists.  As soon as they leave we will go get our things and make our way to your kinsmen.”

Stiles and Isaac watched as the three Were dragged away the Purists bodies, presumably to bury their remains somewhere they wouldn’t be discovered, Stiles thought with a shudder.  Shortly after that the men seemed to walk back into the trees from whence they had come before and disappeared.

Stiles and Isaac remained in the relative safety of the tree’s branches for several hours, climbing down only when Stiles was somewhat confident that the trio of Were had truly dispersed and that the Purists had not sent another hunting party in after their missing brethren.

Cautiously, the duo approached their camp, Isaac’s sharp eyes scanning the surrounding trees and bushes for any sign of danger, Stiles with one hand clasped around his young charge’s and the other gripping his pistol.  When they made it their belongings without incident Stiles breathed a sigh of relief and shot Isaac a grin that he hoped looked reassuring.

“Aight then, let’s gather our things and get oomph-”

The rest of Stiles’ sentence was lost, stolen by the shock of being tackled and pinned to the ground by a solid wall of muscle and bone.  His pistol went flying out of his grip and skittered across the dirt to land a few feet away from him.  Stiles shook his head to clear the cobwebs and stared up at the form anchoring him to the earth.  It was the Were’s leader, the one who had torn out the throat of the Purist.  Even though a tendril of fear had snaked down his spine when he realized it was possible that he might be about to meet the same end as the Purists had, Stiles felt oddly reassured that the Were above him had not shifted and was wholly human in appearance.  

And what a human appearance he possessed.  Earlier, with his features distorted by fangs and fury Stiles hadn’t been able to get a good look at the man but now, up close and personal as they were, it couldn’t be avoided.  Stiles’ gaze quickly took in the chiseled jaw, lightly peppered with a stubble that Stiles most decidedly did not find attractive or have the urge to trail his fingertips across, soft looking pink lips stretched over white, even teeth that reminded Stiles more of bone than they should have and glinted in the light of morning sun, coal black hair that looked almost as if it would part like waves of silk under his touch, dark lashes framing intense hazel eyes…

That were slowly beginning to bleed red.

“Stiles!”  Isaac cried out, the panic in his voice causing Stiles to yank his gaze from the Were’s face to over his right shoulder where Isaac was being restrained by the Were’s brunette companion.  The dark skinned Were stood off to the side, his lips twitching as if he wanted to smile as Isaac fought and struggled in the brunette’s grasp, finally managing to shift partially, striking out with his claws and sinking his fangs deep into his captor’s hand.

“By Gods!  He bit me!”  The brunette howled, ripping his hand away from Isaac’s teeth but still not turning the child loose.

“Aye, you totty headed by blow and I’ll do it again if you don’t set me free!”  Isaac said fiercely, trying in vain to break the Were’s grip on him.

The Were standing beside the pair gave up any attempt at subtly and his shoulders shook with laughter.  Stiles took a bit of comfort in the sight of the Were’s genuine amusement and the fact that other than an angry scowl upon his otherwise handsome face the Were that Isaac had bitten sought no retribution and allowed his fears for Isaac’s safety to dissipate a bit.

“The smell of your fear is no longer as potent as before but your heartbeat is still deafening,” The Were holding Stiles down murmured suddenly, drawing Stiles’ attention back to him.  “You have no reason to fear neither me nor my pack brothers.”

“None at all,” Stiles agreed scornfully, “Except for the part where you and your pack slaughtered four men before my eyes and you ripped the very throat from the last of them and then hid in the woods like some gang of highwaymen waiting to pounce on a wayward traveler.”

The Were’s eyes flashed dangerously, the red color intensifying for just a moment before settling back to it’s no less intense hazel counterpart.  “If you didn’t want to be pounced on, you shouldn’t have run from wolves.  ‘Twas an invitation if ever there was one,” he said mocking Stiles’ earlier mistake.  “I could smell you over yonder in the trees.  What precisely where you thinking, climbing up in the tops of the branches like some manner of ape?”

Stiles glared up at the man.  “I was thinking of Isaac’s safety, not that I’m required to explain myself to the likes of you,” Stiles spat. 

“Really now?”  The Were challenged him.  “Are you sure you weren’t thinking of trying to save your own hide?”

Stiles felt his hackles rise and before cooler heads could prevail he had spat right in the Were’s face.  “You know nothing of me,” Stiles hissed angrily.  “You know nothing of the risks I have taken- _happily_ -to keep him from harm.  You know nothing of the risks I will take to continue to keep him from harm.  You have no right-”

“I have every right!”  The Were snarled, wiping his face clean and then leaning down so he was nose to nose with Stiles.  “He is Were, he is-”

“ _Mine_ ,” Stiles bit back, refusing to be cowed.  “He is mine and you shan’t harm him nor shall you take him from me just because he is of your kind.  He may not be of my blood but he is mine, bound to me by love and loyalty just as tightly as your packmate over there-” Stiles jerked his head to indicate the darker of the two, “is bound to you by the same.”

“And if I did want to take the boy?”

“I would fight you til there was no longer breath in my body,” Stiles declared, meeting the Were’s penetrating stare.

“I would flay the very flesh from your bones,” the Were whispered, allowing his claws to pop free and running them gently down the side of Stiles’ face.

“Not if I killed you first,” Stiles said defiantly.

There was absolute silence for a few beats.  Even Isaac stifled his protests and stood silently with the others, watching the scene before them.  Stiles refused to look away from the Were, even when his eyes began to tear and it became a struggle not to blink, recalling too late one of the first lessons Deaton had ever taught him about the Were.

_“It’s a myth that you should avoid looking a Were in the eye,” Deaton began._

_“But wolves,”_

_“Stiles, the Were are not only wolves.  They are also human.  Just as the wolf always resides within the man the man always resides within the wolf.  Even in their wolf form eye contact is one of the most important forms of communication within a pack.  It’s used to communicate greetings, establish dominance and discern the mental and emotional state of their pack members.  It can be a form of bonding and expression.  When Isaac is in his wolf form, if you avoid eye contact all together you will be removing one of the forms of communication he relies upon the most.”_

_“I think I understand.”_

_“We are not done yet,” Deaton cautioned him.  “There are times when eye contact is not only inappropriate, it just might get you killed.  If a Were is snarling, growling, being aggressive don’t try to establish eye contact.  And if you ever come upon an Alpha, open your eyes as wide as you can and avert your gaze.  A direct stare into the eyes of an Alpha is a challenge; it’s a challenge to their rank, to their social status and to their dominance.  It’s a provocation to battle and Stiles, you will not survive a battle with an Alpha.”_

“I do not suppose there is any chance that you are just exceedingly unpleasant and not in fact, an Alpha is there?”  Stiles asked hopefully, breaking the silence.

The Were simply raised an eyebrow and continued to stare down at Stiles. 

“Well how was I supposed to know that you were an Alpha,” Stiles said defensively, still not looking away.  “Tis not as if you introduced yourself or have a sign hanging about your neck announcing to all that the Alpha cometh.  Your poor manners and complete lack of social graces are to blame for this situation,” he finished.

“Still your tongue before I rip it out,” The Were enunciated slowly, placing a finger over Stiles’ lips.  “Here’s what’s going to happen: I am going to let you up.  You are going to wait as we gather your things and saddle your horse.  Then you and the boy are going to follow us back to Brackenwood.”

“Or?”

“Or I am going to gut you right here and take him back anyway.”

“Well if those are my only choices I suppose you and your kin will be having a couple of houseguests. You will be happy to know I'm fully housetrained and play well with others” Stiles quipped, finally being forced to blink and break their stalemate.  Derek ignored the sarcasm and let out a low rumble of satisfaction at having proven the victor which prompted Stiles to stick his tongue out at him in response.

“Oh that is mature of you.  Are you sure it is not the lad that is raising you?”  Derek asked, taking amusement in Stiles’ annoyance.

“Stiles?”  Isaac called out uncertainly, interrupting the exchange.

“Tis aight Isaac.  Just a bit of a change of plans is all,” Stiles said, ignoring his irritation and keeping his voice light in an attempt to allay Isaac’s fears.

Stiles suddenly found himself being yanked to his feet.  “Ooof,” he exhaled, stumbling forward a bit and landing in the middle of the Were’s chest.  Stiles’ hands fanned out to brace himself and he couldn’t help the flood of awareness he got as he felt the Were’s powerful muscles beneath his touch.

“Are you typically this graceless?”  The Were asked impatiently as he peeled Stiles from his form and righted him on his feet.

“Typically I’m not being flung about like a rag doll,” Stiles replied yanking free and faltering backwards for a couple of steps before regaining his balance.

As soon as Stiles was standing under his own power Isaac resumed his struggles to break free.  “Boyd, gather their things.  Jackson, let the boy go,”  The Alpha ordered.  Immediately the blue eyed beta released the child and Isaac took no time in flinging himself into Stiles’ waiting arms.

“Are you harmed,” Stiles whispered into Isaac’s ear as he smoothed the child’s curls back from his brow and held his trembling body close.

“Is _he_ harmed?”  Jackson broke in indignantly.  “He’s the one who sank fang and claw into _me_ -”

“And you’ve already healed so stow your belly achin’,” Boyd said as he made quick work of packing up the pallet Stiles and Isaac had used from the night before.

“Twas still painful,” Jackson snapped.

“My my, what would Lydia say if she knew her betrothed had been brought low by the bite of a pup?”  Boyd teased.

“I suspect she’d say the same as Erica if _she_ knew _her_ betrothed was felled by a steel trap on the last moon,” Jackson taunted.

Boyd opened his mouth to reply but one look at his annoyed Alpha had him closing it without comment. 

“There’s no need nor is there any point in whispering, Stiles,” Derek said.  “We can hear you.”

“I’m aware,” Stiles replied.  “The whispering was for Isaac’s benefit, not yours…Mr. Were…Alpha…Man,” Stiles fumbled, realizing he didn’t know how to address the Were before him.  “Isaac is a gentle soul and he does not enjoy trouble; Discord and conflict affect him greatly and soft sounds soothe him when he’s upset,” Stiles explained.

“My name is Derek,” the Were responded, his voice dropping several octaves and taking on a note of gentleness that had been absent before.  “And it was not our intention to upset the child.”

“His name is Isaac and of course he’s upset.  Tis not yet the afternoon and he’s been threatened with death, seen men torn asunder and-,” Stiles broke off and swallowed down his temper.  “He is but a boy and this day has been trying.”

Derek nodded.  “Boyd, Jackson.  Finish gathering their things and make sure the horses are ready to go,” he instructed his betas and then walked over to Stiles and Isaac and kneeled down so he was at eye level with the little boy.  He reached out and carded his hand through Isaac’s hair before he spoke.  “I’m sorry you were frightened, little one.  We bear you no ill will and I promise no harm will come to you.”

Isaac pulled slightly away from Stiles and studied Derek, the almost imperceptible flaring of his nostrils and slight tipping of his head to the side the only outward signs of his attempt to surreptitiously scent the Alpha before him.  Derek’s lips quirked up in pride at Isaac’s efforts but the pup’s next words had Derek’s hackles rising to meet a challenge the cub was not aware he had even issued.

“I know that no harm will come to me.  Stiles will see to it,” Isaac answered, suspicion and distrust evident in his cool blue eyes.

“ _Stiles_ will?”  Derek answered, struggling to keep his voice soft even as he chaffed at having his position as Isaac’s protector usurped by a human.

“He always does,” Isaac answered, lifting his chin defiantly as he scented Derek’s displeasure with his previous words.  “Stiles is my pack.”

“And what,” Derek questioned somewhat angrily, “has this _human_ been able to teach you of pack?”

“Pack protects pack,” Isaac growled, “Pack doesn’t harm nor hurt, pack does not betray nor abandon, pack is love and acceptance and safety and strength.  Pack is belonging and home and Stiles is my pack and I am his and if you don’t like it you and yours can go meet the three legged stool!”

“Well, as I have no intention of hanging anytime soon I suppose it is a lucky thing for me and mine that the reins of our destiny are not held in your hands, pup,”  Derek said, rising from the ground and brushing the dirt off of his knees.  “Your human-”

“My name is Stiles, Derek.  You have my permission to use it,” Stiles broke in, aggravated at the way Derek made the word human sound as if it tasted sour upon his tongue.

“Stiles,” Derek repeated through clenched teeth, “seems to have taught you well the meaning of pack.  It’s almost as if someone taught him the way of the Were,” Derek added, taking an almost savage satisfaction in the way Stiles’ heartbeat ticked up at the words.

“My mother and father were kind, loving people.  Tis due to them that I did not need anyone to teach me the meaning of family,” Stiles said, refusing to rise to Derek’s bait.  He knew enough not to try to lie to the Alpha outright but he wasn’t going to betray Deaton to a Were he hardly knew.  The elder might very well be dead but if he still drew breath Stiles wasn’t about to let it be known that there was a human running about with more knowledge about Were’s and all manners of the supernatural than any Purist could hope to possess.

“Aren’t you a clever one,” Derek murmured before turning to address Jackson.  “Are we ready?”

“Aye, the horses are saddled and we have disassembled the camp and hidden all tracks and traces left by the Purists and covered our own.  Boyd is waiting on the path with the horses.”

Derek nodded.  “Well done.  Take Isaac.  He can ride with you.  It will give the two of you an opportunity to get to know one another better,” Derek said, stifling a laugh at the twin looks of horror on Isaac and Jackson’s faces.

“I want to ride with Stiles,” Isaac declared.

“You will ride with Jackson.  Stiles will ride with me.  We have much to discuss and this is not the time nor is it the place to do so.”

“I want to ride with Stiles!  You cannot tell me what to do and-”

Derek let loose a roar that had the birds fleeing the treetops and sent the animals in the brush running for cover.  “You,” he said pointing to Isaac “will ride with Jackson and-”

He stopped speaking.  Stiles suddenly stood before him spitting fury and looking every bit as much a warrior as any Were Derek had ever faced in battle.

“You,” Stiles said poking Derek in the chest, “may be their Alpha but you are not mine.  If you want us to do something you will _ask_ and maybe, _maybe_ , I will consent to your request.”

Derek stared pointedly at Stiles’ finger, still resting on Derek’s breastbone.  “Have you taken leave of all of your senses or are you really this daft?” 

“Better daft than a bully,” Stiles fired back and rolled his eyes dismissively at Derek’s snarl.  “I understand well and truly,  you are the Alpha, you will gut me and make a lasso of my entrails so on and so forth.  I understand who you are and what that means but Isaac does not.  He is but a child and I will not have you trying to establish your dominance at his expense and if you cannot abide by that then he and I shan’t be going anywhere with you.”

“I was not aware you had been given a choice,” Derek bit out.  “But in any case, I have no desire to bully nor intimidate Isaac.  My apologies for losing my temper, it won’t happen again.”

Stiles looked entirely too triumphant for Derek’s liking at the Alpha’s concession so he grabbed the hand that still rested upon his chest and pulled Stiles closer.  “Challenge me in front of my pack again and I will tear your throat out.  With. My. Teeth.  Understood?”

Stiles swallowed hard.  “Well being that I have a firm policy against throat ripping as it pertains to me I shall do my level best not to challenge your ah…status in front of your pack.  You are the Alpha.  You who possesses the fangs and the claws and the red eyes of fury are indeed the Alpha and little old human me will do well to remember it, yessir.  Derek.  Alpha.  Alpha Derek.”

“Does he always use so many words with a simple aye or nay would do?”  Jackson asked Isaac.

“Aye,” Isaac replied ruefully.  “Sometimes I think he talks just to see how many words he can string together before he needs to take a breath.”  The two snickered at the affronted look on Stiles’ face.

“Traitor,” Stiles mumbled, rolling his eyes in Isaac’s direction.  “Since the two of you seem to have become bosom buddies I trust that there will be no more objecting to Derek’s _request_ that you ride together.”

The pair’s giggles dissolved instantly and Isaac frowned mutinously.  “I will ride with you,” he said side eyeing Jackson, “But I shan’t like it.  And if you try anything it will be more than a bite you will be getting this time,” he advised the older boy.

“Just be warned pup that the next time you bite me I shall be biting back,” Jackson cautioned Isaac in return.

“Well, at this rate the two of you will be braiding each other’s hair and sharing your secrets by the time the darkman’s are upon us,” Stiles said brightly clapping his hands together.  “Now, as for you and I,” he said turning to Derek.  “I really think I ought to ride upon my own mare. The old girl is rather temperamental and I would not want her-”

“You will ride with me,” Derek declared, turning his back on Stiles and beginning to walk away.  “Or be left behind.”

Stiles swore silently.  He had hoped to use the time spent traveling to wherever Derek was spiriting them off to in order to formulate a plan of escape.  He’d have a much tougher time with subterfuge if he were trapped on Derek’s steed, close enough for the Were to smell every shift in his emotion and beat of his heart.

And he suspected that’s exactly why Derek was forcing the issue.

Stiles squared his shoulders and put on a brave face.  If Derek was determined to force Stiles to ride with him then Stiles was going to find a way to make the best of the situation, starting with finding out why Derek was so insistent on not leaving Isaac and Stiles behind.

* * *

Stiles didn’t have to wait long for the answer to his question.  They had hardly set down upon the path when Derek broke the silence.

“Why were you and Isaac fleeing when those Purists happened upon you?”

“Who said we were fleeing?”  Stiles replied quickly, reluctant to give up any information until he was sure whether Derek was friend or foe.

“Stiles,” Derek said with exaggerated patience.  “You are carrying far too much to have been traveling to visit someone and yet not enough have been relocating.  And those Purists were after Isaac’s hide-and yours as well by the looks of things.”

“Did anyone ever teach you that it is poor manners to ask questions you already know the answer too?”  Stiles sidestepped.

“Did anyone ever teach you tis poor manners to answer a question with a question?”

“I suppose we are both slacking in our social graces then,” Stiles quipped lightly.

“Stiles,” Derek said, blowing out a frustrated breath, the exhale ghosting over the shell of Stiles’ ear.  “I know what you are doing and it will not work. I shall not be distracted away from the answers I seek by your being intentionally contrary.  The only thing you are accomplishing is the trying of my patience and I assure you, you do not want to be trying my patience right now.”

“Far be it for me to try the patience of the almighty Alpha,” Stiles muttered and then yelped when Derek’s arm tightened around his waist in response.  “No need to remind the fragile human just how soft and squishy he is,” Stiles snarked.  “And you answered your own question.  The Purists were after Isaac.  If they had found me harboring him they would have killed us both.  Beacon Hills was no longer safe.”

“You are a human,” Derek said, making the words sound like an accusation before burying his nose in the crook of Stiles’ neck and sniffing.  “Completely human,” he said after a moment.  “The Purists might have banished you, but their code would not have permitted your death.”

Stiles emitted a bitter laugh.  “Spoken as one who has clearly never met the Argent's,” he said scornfully.  “They are a whole new breed of Purists, more monstrous than any demon or beast they seek to protect humanity from.  ‘Twould be enough for them to call for my death on the grounds that I harbored Isaac knowing full well that he was Were but add to that my own rather dubious reputation and that of my mother’s on top of that and trust me Derek, my being human is no deterrent.  They would kill me just as brutally as they would slay Isaac, probably more so in order to send a message to any that opposed them or their ways.”

Derek narrowed his eyes and scented Stiles more thoroughly.  Beneath the smell of Isaac and earth, past the hint of pine from the trees Stiles had been crouched in earlier and the tart smell of his anger, just beyond his own natural scent that whispered to Derek of pup and sex and musk and that was wholly and uniquely _Stiles_ lay something else.  Derek breathed deeply and Stiles squawked indignantly, attempting to shrug Derek off of him but Derek merely tightened his grip and immersed himself deeper in the essence of the human in his arms until he could identify what it was about Stiles’ that smelled faintly of power and…

Danger.

Derek’s chest rumbled as he identified the smell of dandelions and aconitum, valerian and nightshade, lavender and hemlock and dozens of other plants and herbs that most humans had no use for.

“Are you a witch?”  He demanded roughly, unsure of what exactly he’d do if the answer was yes.

“Nay, and neither was my mother,” Stiles spat.  “I am a healer, and that tis all that I am.  And fine, so perhaps, just perhaps, I dabble a bit.  A protection spell here, a prosperity charm there but that does not make me a witch.”

“Healers cannot cast working spells nor produce useful charms,” Derek argued.  “You have The Gift.”

“Aye, and tis of no consequence to the Argent's and those like them that I use it for good and not for ill,” Stiles snapped.  “Tis all fine and dandy to be _gifted_ when Doc Adams can’t ease Mrs. Tolliver’s headaches or one of the newborn babes is keeping the whole family up with the colic or Reverend Wiltshire is being plagued by nightmares of his dead mother, but let the winter frost linger a tad too long or an illness take hold among the livestock and then my very existence is a crime against humanity, a crime for which the Argent's have already found me guilty and seek to see me hang,” Stiles whispered furiously.

“We are going to the Northern Hills,” Isaac chimed in suddenly.  “Stiles was taking me to the Hales, to my kin to request sanctuary.”

Stiles looked heavenward and cursed Isaac’s sharp hearing.  “I don’t believe our plans are any of Derek’s concern, Isaac.”

“Oh but to the contrary, they are entirely my concern,” Derek corrected him.  “My name is-”

“Derek, we are aware,” Stiles interrupted.  “You are Derek, I am Stiles and that is Isaac and we are all one big, happy pack.”

“More than you know,” Derek agreed.  “As I was saying afore I was so _rudely_ interrupted, my name is Derek _Hale_.  Alpha of the Hale pack and I was on my way to Beacon Hills to retrieve that which is mine.  Coming upon the two of you as I did saved me part of the journey.”

Isaac stared openly and Stiles felt himself grow faint.  If it hadn’t been for Derek’s strong arms caging him in and keeping him upright he was sure he’d have fallen off of the horse and been trampled under it’s hooves.

“You are a member of the Hale pack,” Stiles asked weakly.

“From the moment I was born,” Derek cheerfully affirmed.

“And you are the Alpha of said pack,” Stiles repeated blankly.

“As I have had to remind you several times since we met, Stiles,” Derek nodded.

“You are Isaac’s kin…and _you_ are the Alpha?”  Stiles demanded, his eyes widening.  “That cannot be.  Laura Hale is the Alpha of the Hale pack.  De-Dat is what everyone says,” he correctly swiftly.

Stiles felt Derek go rigid behind him and when he spoke it was with a coldness  that had chilled Stiles to his very bones.  “Laura is gone, has been for nearly a year now.  When she passed I became the Alpha.”

“How-”

“None of your business,” Derek barked, the threat of violence in his tone causing Stiles to smother all his questions about the fallen Alpha

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Stiles murmured, bowing his head and trying to calm his racing thoughts.

Escape was no longer a viable option, not that it had ever really been before.  Derek had been traveling to Beacon Hills to claim Isaac and return him to his rightful pack.  If Stiles tried to flee now he’d not only have to contend with the Purists but he’d have a pack of bloodthirsty Were on his trail.  Purists he might have a chance of escaping but now that Derek had scented he and Isaac there wasn’t a corner in hell Stiles would be able to hide in where the Alpha wouldn’t find them.

“And I for yours,” Derek replied, his voice breaking into Stiles’ thoughts and his earlier anger absent.

“What do you know about what I have lost,” Stiles demanded.

“I know far more about you think I know,” Derek replied.  “I did not know that you were gifted but I know that you are an orphan.  I also know that you took Isaac in and kept him safe at great risk to yourself and I know that you have done everything in your power to heal the emotional wounds inflicted upon him by Katherine.”

“Quite a lot you know,” Stiles replied, his heart jackhammering in his chest.  “One would almost think you had been creeping about in the shadows watching us.”

Derek chuckled darkly.  “I didn’t stalk you like prey,” he drawled, “though had I known about you sooner I may have.  I know about you the same way you knew Isaac was of Hale blood and learned the ways of the pack.”

Stiles shook his head frantically.  “Are you certain you have not been out in the sun too long?  I think you’re a bit touched, talking all out of your head like that and-”

“It’s admirable you know,” Derek said absently, “Your loyalty to a man you haven’t seen in well over a year now.  In case you’re wondering, Deaton is well.  And he made it quite clear to me that returning to Brackenwood with Isaac but without you would be a mistake.  I doubted his word at first but now I am beginning to believe he told me true.”

“You have seen him?”  Stiles asked, struggling to make sense of the words that were coming out Derek’s mouth.  “Did he…did he seek you out for sanctuary?  Did he tell you about us?”

“Nay and aye,” Derek answered.  “We sought him, though ultimately it did no good.  And he took his time telling me of Isaac’s existence.”

“Why-”

Derek cut Stiles off.  “I did not take Laura’s passing well.”

“You were half feral for the better part of the year,” Jackson corrected, ignoring his Alpha’s warning look.  “Tis no point in telling the tale if you are not going to tell it all,” he huffed.

“As I said, I did not take it well,” Derek continued.  “I have since adjusted.  Deaton finally decided I was fit enough to know that-”

“You have a son,” Stiles finished dully.  There was only one reason Deaton wouldn’t have immediately shared the news of Isaac’s existence with his father and that was if the father were incapable of caring for the child.  If Isaac had been sired by another member of the Hale pack Deaton would have sought the man out and told him of the pup’s existence.  But Isaac hadn’t been sired by another member of pack, he’s been sired by _Derek_ and if Derek had been half mad with grief over the loss of his sister then Deaton would have held his tongue, secure in the knowledge that Isaac was safe with Stiles until such a time Derek was fit to claim him.

That time had evidently come.

“You are my sire?”  Isaac asked timidly.

The insecurity in Isaac’s voice broke Stiles’ heart and he was answering before Derek had a chance to speak lest he say something that the sensitive child could perceive as a rejection.

“Isn’t that wonderful,” Stiles said with forced cheer.  “We were going to find your kin and instead your kin found us.  I would say that is a good omen if ever there was one.  I would lay odds that Derek here is just over the moon at having sired such a fine young lad as you, Isaac.  Aren’t you Derek?”  Stiles asked, ‘accidently’ jabbing his elbow into Derek’s ribs.

Derek’s hands flexed briefly on the reins but he the smile he aimed at Isaac bore no trace of his irritation with Stiles.  “Aye,” Derek agreed.  “When Deaton told me about you my only thought was to find you and bring you back to Brackenwood where you belonged,” Derek began.  “But when I saw you, so strong and brave, refusing to abandon your pack in the face of danger, I was so proud that you were pack, that you were _mine_.  I am so proud that you are mine.”

“And what about Stiles?”  Isaac asked.

“What about him?”  Derek replied.

“Stiles is my pack,” Isaac said slowly, as if he were explaining that water makes things wet to small, rather dimwitted child.  “If I belong to you, then so does Stiles,” Isaac reasoned.

Boyd and Jackson both tried in vain to contain their amusement at Isaac’s declaration of Derek’s ownership over Stiles but the grins stretching across their faces gave them both away.

“I do not think Alpha has much of an objection to that,” Boyd remarked slyly, causing both he and Jackson to succumb to a fit of laughter.

Stiles’ cheeks burned and just when he was certain he couldn't be any more embarrassed Isaac spoke again and proved him wrong.

“Stiles said that when we reached my kin he might be able to find himself a nice Were lady to be my new mother but that’s daft.  For one I do not wish to have a mother, not after Kate,” Isaac declared, causing each of the adults around him to wince.  “For another, Stiles would not like any of the Were ladies.  He did not like any of the human ladies so why would he like a Were lady any better?  The only person he has ever looked at with any interest is Miller Greenberg’s son, no matter how many times Amanda Porter came to call in dresses cut so low that a newborn babe could probably suckle at her-”

“Isaac!” Stiles shouted, his face flaming as Boyd nearly toppled from his horse in his amusement and Derek muffled his laughter in the back of Stiles’ neck, the scrape of Derek’s stubble against Stiles’ sensitive skin sending an involuntary shiver down his spine.  “I think you have painted a pretty enough picture, thank you.”

“No, no Isaac please go on,” Jackson wheezed.  “Why else should Stiles belong to the Alpha.”

“That’s enough Jackson,” Derek said, taking pity on Stiles.  “No need to be embarrassed, Stiles.”

“Easy for you to say,” Stiles mumbled.  “Tis just one more thing about me that is unnatural according the Purist.”

Stiles’ misery was strong that Derek had an all consuming urge to wrap his arms around him and soothe his pain, to explain to him there was nothing unnatural about him except perhaps that he was a human who seemed utterly untrained in the arts of treachery and betrayal.

“Then tis a good thing you will no longer be among Purists,” Derek whispered thickly.  He ran a deliberate hand up Stiles’ side and was rewarded with a startled gasp.  “The Were in general and my pack in particular are much more…open to the exploration of one’s desires.  We have men mated to men, women mated to woman, pairs and triads…you’ll find no judgment in your new home, Stiles.”

Stiles felt the burn of tears in his eyes at the word home and the promise of acceptance that Derek had made him.  “It sounds nice,” Stiles murmured, willing himself not to respond to warmth of Derek at his back or take pleasure in the brush of his lips against his ear.  He wasn’t so foolish as to believe that Derek was unaware of the way he had set his heart racing or the sparks of excitement rushing along his skin but he was determined not to embarrass himself any further.

Isaac however had no such compunctions.

“So you will be mated to Stiles,” the boy shrugged, “And we’ll be pack and family.”

Stiles choked on air and Derek stiffened behind him.

“I will not mate with a human,” he said, the contempt evident in his voice to even a small child such as Isaac.

“You mated with _Kate_ ,” Isaac pointed out undeterred.  “And Stiles is a far better choice than she.”

“Katherine was a mistake,” Derek gritted.  “One that cost me and my pack bitterly and save for your birth brought nothing but misery down upon my head.  Tis not a mistake I will be repeating.”

“With all due respect Alpha, you may not have a choice,” Boyd said quietly.  “Isaac is yours.  The first born Hale of his generation, tis his right to lead but-”

“I am well aware of pack law,” Derek cut Boyd off. 

“I am not,” Stiles spoke up quickly.

“Tis because Hale pack law tis no concern of yours,” Derek replied.

“Isaac is my concern,” Stiles responded fiercely, “And if there is something in the pack laws that concern him then-”

“Now is not the time,” Derek said tiredly.  “We will address it, as well as the issue of your place in the pack when we reach Brackenwood.”

“His place is with me,” Isaac argued.  “And if my place is with you then that means Stiles’ place is with you too.”

“Is he always this difficult?”  Derek asked Stiles.

“This,” Stiles smirked, “this is nothing.  He has his cap set on getting a kitten,” Stiles said jovially.  “Just wait until he gets started again on _that_ again.”

“A kitten,” Derek said flatly.

“Aye, a kitten,” Stiles confirmed.

“A Were with _a kitten_ ,” Derek grimaced.

“Said we would name it Socks,” Stiles added helpfully, enjoying the look of utter incredulity on Boyd’s face since he couldn’t twist around to see Derek’s.

“Aye, he’ll be grey and white and black like when I am the wolf,” Isaac put in.

“There will be no kittens at Brackenwood,” Derek proclaimed.

“I want a kitten,” Isaac whined, his voice taking on a sharp quality that Stiles knew meant he was about to work himself up into a snit.  “He will be grey and white and black like my wolf and his name will Socks and he will be mine,” Isaac continued glaring daggers at Derek.

Derek jostled Stiles.  “Do something,” he hissed.

“You are the Alpha,” Stiles shrugged, delighting in the sight of Jackson and Boyd’s amused faces now that their merriment was not at his expense and curious to see how Derek would handle Isaac when he got it into his head to be willful.

“Were do not own kittens, Isaac-” Derek began.

“Then tis a good thing I am half human,” Isaac returned smartly.

“Isaac tis not a good idea to bring prey-”

“Socks will not be prey.  He will be my pet!”

“It is out of the question!”

“I want my kitten!  I want Socks!”  Isaac cried.

Stiles decided things had gone far enough and it was time for him to step in.  “Isaac,” he said sharply, “what have I told you about tantrums?”

“That they are for ill mannered brutes and wee ones who do not know any better,” Isaac replied petulantly.

“Are you an ill mannered brute?”  Stiles asked patiently.

“Nay,” Isaac replied sullenly, slumping his shoulders and tucking his chin into his chest.

“Then I suppose that means you are a wee one,” Stiles said.

“Tis not true!” Isaac denied hotly.  “I am not a baby.”

“In that case we shall not be having anymore of those fits of temper then will we?”  Stiles asked firmly.

“No Stiles,” Isaac agreed.

“Now apologize to Derek for being so churlish,” Stiles instructed.

“I am sorry, Derek,” Isaac said whispered.

“Tis alright Isaac,” Derek murmured.  “I accept your apology.”

“But why can I not have a kitten, Stiles?”  Isaac whined.

“Because,” Stiles began then stopped.  He had said no a dozen times over but never fully explained the reason why because he had never been able to find the words.  He suspected that Derek would suffer from no such difficulty.  “Derek explain it to him,” he prompted.

Derek was at a momentary loss and but then rallied.  “Do you shift when the moon is full?”  He asked Isaac gently.  At Isaac's nod he continued, “Then you know that when the wolf is in the forefront things are different.  Your instincts are more basic, more primal.  The urge to run, to chase, to pounce, to play and find prey are overwhelming and almost undeniable.  You might see your kitten as a pet but the other Were at Brackenwood would see him as prey.”

“I suppose a kitten would not be very happy being chased about by my kin,” Isaac mused.

“No, I do not imagine it would be.”  Derek agreed.

“Were do not have pets?” Isaac asked.

“Not in our pack,” Derek replied.  “There was an attempt once.  The son of the Alpha insisted on having a rabbit of all things.”

“What happened?”  Isaac asked curiously.

“The Alpha got him a rabbit,”  Derek chuckled.  “And then forbade any in the pack from hunting it.  All was fine until the full moon and then well…the Alpha’s son insisted on bringing his rabbit to the run and the Alpha spent the entire night chasing pack away from the rabbit’s cage.  Let me tell you, when the sun rose the next morning there was one angry, exhausted Alpha and forty plus very unhappy Were.  The rabbit had to go.”

“Was his son upset?”

“Aye,” Derek said.  “For a little while, until he thought about it and then he understood why it for the best.”

“Why was it best?” Isaac asked.

“It was best because even though Hoppers made me very happy he made the rest of the pack very upset and the good of the pack must always come first.  Plus, I do not think Hoppers was very happy to be taken from the forest and housed in a cage.  It was best for Hoppers and for the pack that he go back to where he belonged.”

“I would not want to my pack or my pet to be sad,” Isaac said thoughtfully.

“No, I do not imagine you would.”

“I shan’t be getting a kitten after all,” Isaac announced wistfully.

“That’s a very grown up decision to make,” Derek said, biting back a smile.  “I wish I had been as wise as you are when I was your age.”

Isaac preened and settled back against Jackson. 

“Well done,” Stiles murmured.

“Thank you,” Derek replied, happy to have not only handled Isaac well but to have earned Stiles' approval.

“Hoppers?” Stiles asked with a grin.

“Stifle yourself, Stiles.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just a couple of notes: I swear I'm not a total history fail. I'm just sort of...handwaving away the history of California for this AU and employing the use of a little (okay a lot of) poetic license. I hope the historical inaccuracy doesn't take away from the enjoyment of the story for anyone but I understand if it does. Also, I named the Sheriff Aleksander b/c most of my research led towards Stilinski being a name with Eastern European roots and most of my google fu found that that a great number of the people with the last name were of Polish descent and that's where Aleksander came from.


End file.
